Drunken Goals, Score!
by so-they-say
Summary: Clyde makes a list of some necessary goals for one night of awesome partying...that of course goes a little awry. It IS South Park, after all. Rated T for some occasional bad language, slight slash, and alcohol use. Absolute crack everything. Yay!
1. Chapter 1

...I DON'T KNOW WHAT THIS IS. I tried to make a Cryde fic, since they're my new OTP...and then I was on textsfromlastnight, reading about wonderful drug-fueled adventures...and it's three o'clock in the morning and I have absolutely nothing better to do. So there. It's the only explanation. D=

This wasn't really supposed to be funny (I suck at humor) but it sort of...I 'unno. I really don't.

I hope you enjoy this, uh, crack, if it's at all possible, and all characters belong to Matt n Trey.

...crazy teenage hi-jinks ftw? =D

* * *

**1:27 A.M, At Token Black's bitchin' party.**

* * *

Clyde shut his eyes as he mentally went over tonight's goals in list form.

He started from the bottom with number five- Meet a hot chick.

A bright blue eye peeked open to check out the drunken girl next to him, who was in the process of feeding a bag of skittles one by one into her open purse. "There you go, Mr. Zippy," She cooed, making kissy faces at the sticky leather monstrosity. It was vomiting a rainbow of melting candy onto her lap and the rest of the couch in Token's basement. Her name was Red...or Rebbecca...Powder? Clyde didn't really remember.

Anyway, check.

Number four- Acquire some booze.

Clyde clutched the bottle of vodka he had found on the floor (screaming "Five second rule!" for absolutely no reason that he could remember). Okay, so he had that. And the three beers he had chugged earlier. And the apple martini Butters had convinced him to try (stupid Butters, bringing fruity gay drinks to a party...he would never let himself live it down for actually liking it better than REAL alcohol).

Check.

Three was simple- Get a ride home.

"Hey, CRAIG!" Clyde roared across the basement, startling several quiet partiers in his vicinity. Tweek Tweak dropped an entire platter of nachos, twitching frantically with a pathetic "Oh God, my eardrums-"

Craig looked over from a circle of kids playing spin the bottle, flipping him off with both hands for interrupting his kiss with a very embarrassed, very mortified Kyle Broflovski. "WHAT."

"YOU'RE DRIVING ME HOME, RIGHT?" Clyde had no idea why he was still shouting; he clearly had Craig's attention. Oh well! Now he had it doubled.

Craig turned away, leering as he reached for a reluctant Jewish boy trying to hide behind Stan. "Fuck off," was his heartwarming reply.

...that sounded dependable. Check, Clyde decided.

He paused to think while watching the drunk girl beside him flip over her precious Mr. Zippy, unleashing a cascade of warm skittles over the wreckage that was poor Tweek's nacho platter. "Gah!" He wailed, swatting at her hands. "Why are you doing that? Stop- agh! I said STOP, not HOP, askdjfksdjkfl-"

The girl smiled blissfully, now trying to throw the abused purse at Tweek's head. "Be free, little carebears, be free~!"

...what number was he on, again? It was two, right? Yeah. Most definitely two.

Number two- tell Kenny off for smacking his ass a few hours ago.

"KENNY," Clyde roared once more. Tweek flinched, completely losing his battle to keep the drunken Rebecca/Powder girl from putting the sticky, disgusting purse over his head. "It's a hat!" She giggled.

"KENNY," Clyde bawled again. He had no idea where Kenny was or if he could even hear him, but it was totally worth a try and he was way too lazy to actually get up and look for the guy. Clyde wasn't the best at confrontations, anyway. "KENNY, THAT WAS VERY RUDE OF YOU TO GROPE ME, PLEASE DON'T DO IT AGAIN, I'M KIND OF SENSITIVE ABOUT THE SIZE OF MY ASS. ALSO, I DID NOT TAKE KINDLY TO YOUR IMPLICATION THAT I HAVE 'TOTAL JUNK IN MY TRUNK'. THAT WAS WEIRD, KENNY. THAT WAS VERY WEIRD."

The few sober people still in the room stared at Clyde in disbelief, having absolutely no idea what he was talking about and not exactly sure that they wanted to know.

"Dumbass," Eric Cartman grumbled whilst watering a houseplant with a glass of chocolate milk. Clyde briefly wondered where he had gotten it, he could totally go for some chocolate right now. Or tacos. Damn. Now he had the munchies.

Tweek's anguished cries of sticky, candified torture reminded Clyde of his final goal, the big honcho, numero uno, the super task of the night (and possibly the year).

To get laid.

Clyde frowned, his eyes scanning the room for a possible lucky candidate. The girl next to him was too far gone (and he was almost positive that Tweek had somehow seduced her anyway). But who else was there? Everyone here was either already with someone, or drunk, or staying a safe vicinity away from him after his little shouting tidbits. Even though he wasn't entirely sober, at _all_, Clyde had enough common sense to know that it would probably take a miracle to get any from _anybody_ tonight.

"Well, fuck me! I'm screwed!" Clyde sighed, dropping his faithful bottle of vodka and putting his head in his hands. He didn't remember it being empty. Huh. That was weird.

And then a very familiar hand was on his back, quickly making it's way past his comfort zone and dangerously close to his gluteous maximus.

"Badonk a donk," Kenny McCormick giggled, his lips oddly close to Clyde's ear.

Clyde nearly leapt to his feet before remembering his current condition...and then staggered and fell to his knees to the floor, staring up at Kenny in a slightly dazed stupor. Kenny had sneaked the spot right next to Clyde on the couch without him even noticing.

"...Ninja!" Clyde murmured, pointing a wobbly finger in Kenny's general direction. The world was suddenly quite a lot blurrier than before; he was beginning to realize that his vision was doubled, most likely from the vodka he had been drinking while going over his little checklist. Four pairs of mischievous blue eyes floated above him, followed by a grin like a Cheshire cat.

Wait, what was a Cheshire cat? His mind went on vacation to his fourth-period English class for some reason. Fuck. What was going on?

It took Clyde a few minutes to figure out that Kenny had been talking the entire time that he had been musing over cats and freaky smiles and something about some chick named Alice and her trippy adventures in Wonderland.

"...so, you coming upstairs with me or what, sillyboy?" Kenny smirked, holding out an inviting hand to a confused and rather lost Clyde.

"...Uh." Clyde mumbled. "Lemme check."

_Let's see...um. Getting laid, right? I think that was on the list. Yeah, that sounds right. Totally. That was what he meant too, right? I think that's what I'm supposed to do..._Clyde stared off into space, lost in his thoughts again.

Kenny snapped his fingers in front of the others slack-jawed face. "Oi!" He laughed. "Come back to Earth, Clyde..."

Clyde did indeed "snap" out of it, grinning slowly but confidently up at the very eager McCormick. "Sure." He said at last. "'Less Go!" He had completely forgotten what he had just agreed to.

Before he could reconsider, a pair of arms were dragging him to his feet, away from some chick cuddling a reluctant and somewhat defeated Tweek Tweak. Tweek watched them go with desperate, wary eyes, still worried about Clyde's safety (even after all of his eardrum breaking nonsense). With a shaky hand, he very gently pushed the red-headed girl away, muttering a few apologies as he handed her Mr. Zippy and his sticky, sticky remains. There were skittles in his hair, and they hurt like hell as he tried to pluck them out of his wild and already untamed mess of blonde tangles. He cautiously went to the spin the bottle circle.

Slightly shy but still knowing it would be the right thing (and pretty much the only thing) he could do, Tweek hesitantly prodded at a hunched shoulder with all the bravery he could muster.

A pair of flat gray eyes stared back at him, confused.

"C-Clyde j-just went u-up with Kenny," Tweek whispered, blushing at the amount of attention he was getting for just walking over. "I think he could get into some- gah!- ...trouble..."

The other boy's expression darkened immediately, and he stood up, not-so-gently pushing Tweek to take his place on the floor. "I'll go get him." He growled in a fierce monotone.

Tweek gave a terrified squeak on the floor, finding several arms holding him down and forcing him to spin the bottle. "W-Wait- ACK! I didn't mean-oh no- I DON'T WANT TO PLAY THIS, OH GOD, THE PRESSURE-"

The party raged on.

* * *

**2:14 A.M, Upstairs in the master bathroom, or more relevantly, Kenny's molestation zone**

* * *

Clyde wasn't entirely sure what was going on, but then again he figured that he didn't really need to- a pair of lips were working over his better than anyone else he had ever kissed before, and that was pretty awesome, in Clyde's opinion. However, he wasn't as quite as thrilled with the sweaty, rather demanding hand running up his shirt, and he was NOT cool with the other that had at some point found his ass and was now fondling it in every which way. No, that really didn't fly by Clyde at all.

"Uhm- ah, hey, please don't- mphm- touch me...there..." He whimpered between growingly urgent kisses, his eyes a bit unfocused as he desperately tried to recognize the chick that was getting so frisky. It _was_ a chick, right? All he could see was the vague outline of a tall, slightly thin frame and a spiky mess of soft blond hair.

"Aw, what's wrong, cutie? Is this your first time...?" Arms were pinning him against the tiles of the bathroom wall, and Clyde was aware that it was very dark in here-too dark. He tried to move away, only to feel his foot collide with the side of a very large bathtub. No escape.

"Uhm." Clyde blushed, embarrassed. "Y-Yes..."

Kenny McCormick paused his ravaging to briefly fist pump the air. "Oh, score," he chuckled, leaning in once more to take Clyde's lips.

_Well that's weird. _Clyde thought to himself in wonder. _I never heard of a girl so excited about a virgin guy before...and I never really heard one say "score" before, either. Huh. _

Maybe she was, as his dad had always advised him to find, "a keeper".

Said keeper's tongue explored Clyde's mouth, viciously entwining their tongues as she came closer, her body warm and firm against his...

Something brushed his thigh, and suddenly several flashing red lights appeared in Clyde's conscience, along with a blaring horn that screamed in a voice quite like Cartman's: _DICK RADAR, DIIIIICK RADAR, MAKING OUT WITH A DUDE- _DUDE_, YOU **FAIL**-_

"W-w-w-WAIT, nonono- umph- h-hang on, oh God..."

Kenny McCormick grinned against Clyde's lips. "Don't worry, you'll like it~" he murmured, once more taking control of his tongue. The...the...(Clyde couldn't bring himself to admit it) was back, pressing harder against his weak and now completely molested leg. Millions of thoughts and feelings strangled Clyde's mind at once, his body's reaction to the entire situation not exactly helping to resist. _Bad penis, bad bad bad- this is not what you're supposed to dig, dude-_ he mentally scolded himself, halfheartedly pushing against Kenny's chest while simultaneously pulling him closer with a hand, tangled in his hair...

Defeat was imminent.

Clyde gave a tiny sigh that vibrated into Kenny's mouth, about to give one final, weak protest...

...when the bathroom door slammed open violently to show a very drunk, very pissed off Craig Tucker. Light spilled into the room and suddenly the bright fluorescent lights were on, blinding Clyde with rays of shiny, glorious, cock-blocking glory. Kenny pulled away, startled, and Clyde decided that he had never and probably would never be so happy to see Craig so enraged again. It was a beautiful moment.

"Craiiiiiiiig-" Clyde wailed, tears of joy threatening his watery blue eyes.

Craig didn't so much march as stagger into the bathroom, brandishing the empty vodka bottle that Clyde had abandoned before. It would have been quite the entrance, except that he sort of lost his balance with his arm outstretched with the weight of the bottle, and went sliding down to the floor, the sound of shattering glass deafening against the tiled walls.

"...fuck." He muttered, rubbing his eyes. "I'm too drunk for this shit."

Kenny laughed, not at all fazed and almost friendly to the interruption. "I didn't know you were dating Clyde," He mused, grinning as if nothing had happened. A slightly longing hand was still twitching at his side, and Clyde blushed, covering his backside in fear.

Craig glowered up at him, reaching for a particularly large shard of glass. "We're not- _I'm not_-...uh..."

He just had such a way with words.

Kenny's grin turned into a smirk, giving him a knowing look as he turned to walk out the door and give the two some privacy. Ass wasn't hard to come by, tonight...although probably none as nice as his certain favorite spiky-haired brunette.

Oh well. There was always Cartman.

There was an awkward silence as the two boys averted each others eyes, having absolutely no idea what to say or how to even proceed with this incredibly uncomfortable moment. Every second of memorizing the color of the shower curtains depressed Clyde even more than the last, until finally he couldn't help but try to say something- _anything. _

_"..._I could really go for some chocolate milk right now." He announced.

Craig stared at him, somewhat bewildered and not at all amused.

Well, that sucked. Clyde shook his head at himself. _Stupid, stupid stupid-_

"...I could, too." Craig suddenly replied.

Oh. Well, then maybe that didn't suck after all.

"Let's...let's forget all of this happened, okay, Clyde?" Craig asked, picking himself up off of the floor with the remains of his dignity. There were bits of glass everywhere- what the hell was he planning on doing with that bottle anyway? Damn, was that a stupid plan. He held out a hand, offering to lead Clyde away.

Clyde grinned manically, trying to stifle a bizarre onset of giggles. "So...pretend Kenny never tried to rape me? And that you totally came to my rescue like some uber gay super hero?"

Craig sighed. "Yeah, forget the first part. You better fucking appreciate the second. Uber Gay Craig to the rescue. Fucking hell."

Clyde grabbed his hand, staggering closer with the same slightly insane, ecstatic smile. "Can we go on an adventure, Craig? In a chariot of rainbows and butterflies and vodka-chocolate milk?"

Craig frowned, wondering exactly how much Clyde had had to drink tonight, and definitely curious if anyone had slipped him something "special" while he was drunk out of his mind. It was that, or maybe Clyde was really just that retarded. He wouldn't really be surprised by that at all. "Um, if you call driving home in Tweek's beat up sedan with some peptobismal and advil an adventure, sure, Clyde. Let's knock ourselves the fuck out."

Clyde broke into a wobbling, haphazard sprint, dragging a helpless Craig down an entire flight of stairs in the best spirit he had been in an entire year. "HELL YEAH!"

So the duo gathered up a molested Tweek and set sail in his slightly smelly, rusted old sedan, off into the proverbial three-o-clock in the morning sunset, worse for the wear but overall alive to crash at Craig's house for some Red Racer reruns and very much needed sleep. And to be honest, Clyde wouldn't have wanted it any other way.

* * *

Sorry if this sucked! But don't you just love a happy ending? Oh lawl.


	2. Chapter 2

After thinking about it a bit, I gave it a bit more of a definite ending...and it was also an excuse to make more Cryde (slightly. god do i suck at writing).

You gotta admit Craig n' Clyde make an awesome duo. Well, at least I think they do.

Thanks for the reviews =)

* * *

4:40 A.M, At Craig's house, after an epic failure of motion sickness meets Clyde meets Tweek's sedan.

* * *

Clyde's head reeled as he curled up into a tiny, pathetic, and altogether humiliated fetal position on Craig's bathroom floor. His mouth tasted like peptobismal and vomit- ugh God, so disgusting. He hadn't exactly fared the bumpy drive home well. Neither did Tweek's car.

_I am so taking him out for apology taco-night. _Clyde thought to himself, mentally noting to ask Tweek later if he even liked tacos in the first place. I mean, damn, how could you _not _like them? They were so hot and steamy and crunchy and cheesy...

Oh, wait. Did thoughts of Mexican food and a hangover really mix?

Back to reality, then.

Clyde's stomach did a slow forward roll and he scrambled over the cold tiles of the bathroom floor, desperately hugging the toilet bowl as he suppressed a groan- and the rest of tonight's alcohol. Was there anything even left in his stomach? He had been almost positive everything had been evacuated in the backseat of Tweek's sedan.

Well, fuck.

A light knocking came from outside the door, quickly followed by a cautious Craig's anxious face. "Uh, Clyde?" his voice was much clearer- both of them were gradually sobering up. "You okay? Also, don't wipe your mouth on my shower curtains, you dick. Those are new."

Clyde hastily dropped his fistfull of rubber-duck printed curtains, grinning. "Oops," he mumbled weakly.

Craig sighed. "Yeah, oops. You've been making quite the shitload of "oops-es" tonight, buddy."

Clyde winced, his face turning a sickly shade of green. "Please don't...mention anything to do with bodily fluids." He begged; his voice was groggy, exhausted, defeated. Any other synonym for the terrible hangover he was sure he would somehow wake up with later.

Craig smirked, slowly coming into the bathroom to sit beside Clyde on the floor. It was cold, but pleasantly so- a nice reprieve from the hot and sweaty nastiness that tonight had boiled down to. "You think your stomach's settling down? I'm tired, man. It's nearly five in the morning."

Clyde bowed his head, reluctantly pulling himself away from the comfort of the toilet. It really was a nice toilet, too; all shiny and pearly and porcelain and such. It was too bad it had to take so much shit from the Tucker family...literally.

_Damnitstopthinkinglikethat, why am I so stupid_- Clyde squeezed his eyes shut, swaying dangerously close to Craig's lap.

"_**Hey hey hey hey**_**-** the bowl is over THERE, you dipshi- I mean, you assho- fuck! Just move over there if you're gonna through up. Jerk."

Clyde let his head fall into Craig's lap anyway, much to Craig's dismay. He was too exhausted to even listen to Craig's homophobic comments; he shut his aching blue eyes and completely tuned him out, waiting for his head to stop spinning. "You move, you get a crotch full of a very special present from me." He muttered threateningly. Or at least, as threatening as a tired seventeen year-old boy coming down from a massive headache could sound, anyway.

It seemed to work, in any case- Craig froze, then gave Clyde's shoulder an awkward, comforting pat, the universal signal for Hey-I've-Got-You-Man-Just-Please-Don't-Barf-Anymore.

Despite the situation, Clyde smiled. "Thanks, dude." He mumbled. "Uber Gay Super Craig to the rescue, totally."

There was an impatient sigh just above his head. Clyde found this a little disorientating. "Would you stop bringing that up? I thought I told you to forget all that."

"Nope. You told me just to forget the whole...uh, rape business. If anything, you told me to remember this _forever._"

"...Oh, yeah. Well. Fuck. Forget it anyway. Since when did you ever listen to me?"

Clyde nodded slightly, positioning his head comfortably in Craig's lap. It wasn't exactly easy, what with a zipper prodding him in the ear. "Touche." He replied.

They both chuckled, completely uncomfortable but altogether too lazy to bother getting up. Clyde was just slipping into sweet unconsciousness when he felt a hand shaking him, a finger flicking his forehead impatiently. "There is_ no _way we are sleeping on the bathroom floor with your head on my...ugh. Just get up, please."

Stupid Craig, with his stupid sober common sense.

Clyde managed to pull himself to his feet, a little dizzy but overall okay. Not stomach flipping. No butterflies. No displeased Craig with a nasty bathroom floor. Everything was as it should be. He staggered out and down the hallway into Craig's bedroom, suddenly catapulting himself onto Craig's bed.

Craig was less than enthusiastic. "What are you- oh _hell_ no. No, no, _no._ A thousand times no. Get off of there."

Clyde burrowed his head beneath Craig's favorite pillow, covering his ears. He snuggled his face even closer to the soft downy sheets, smirking manically at Craig's little gasp of horror. "Can't hear you~!" He giggled, a bit muffled.

"Seriously Clyde, fuck you- **stop **that. You're...you're getting your _Clydeness_ all over my bed. Don't make me-"

"I just licked your mattress."

"FOR THE LOVE OF FUCK-"

Clyde broke down into a sudden dry heave of giggles, shaking uncontrollably at Craig's rage. He could just be so anal sometimes, over the stupidest of shit. _Ha, anal...shit. Puns. I really am feeling better._ Clyde thought to himself. _Craig's crotch has worked wonders._

Craig continued to rant. "Now I have to do another load of laundry tomorrow- fuck you, Clyde, really, you are such an asshole- you are **so **getting your nasty tiny little puke particles all over my bed...my BED, Clyde. Like really, just what the fuck. Is nothing sacred? I swear, you are _**such a dick-"**_

Clyde rolled over, grinning as he gestured for Craig to lie down. "There's plenty of room, Craigykins! See? I got it all nice and warm for you and _everything..."_

Craig's face of pure, unfiltered hatred made him dissolve into more laughter, smirking indulgently when Craig gave him the finger with both hands. God, was he so easy to annoy. He yawned, quite unimpressed with a series of death threats Craig muttered under his breath as he grudgingly lay down as well, at the very far edge of the bed with his back to his rather unappreciative dick of a friend. Craig's cellphone vibrated, and he reluctantly extracted it from his back pocket to check over 17 new messages from a very distraught Tweek Tweak mourning his car, back home in his garage.

_From_, **Tweekers**, _5:01 A.M_

Seriously u guys, this sucks- the entire backseat is just RUINED, dude. Do u know how mny bottles of clorox, dish detergent, & febreeze i just went thru? GAH. CLYDE OWES ME FOR THIS.

p.s. please tell him that tacos r NOT an acceptable payment

_From_, **Tweekers**, _5:07 A.M_

Ugh. Clyde's still alive, tho, right? He's okay? God he had alot to drink. I was positive he was gonna drop dead of alcohol poisoning. So glad he didn't in my car. Poor guy.

_From_, **Tweekers**, _5:23 A.M_

_WHY DOES IT STILL SMELL LIKE DIGESTED VODKA AND GUACAMOLE? _JESUS CHRIST, CRAIG. I AM BURNING MY CAR. BURNING IT.

Craig sighed, turning over reluctantly to face a sleepy Clyde. A half-opened blue eye stared back at him, amused. "You really owe Tweek, dude." Craig muttered, trying not to smile and failing. "Like, really. I think he's having a meltdown right now. He's glad that you're okay, though."

Clyde grinned widely. "I feel like a complete douche now. Tell him I'll take him out for Casa Bonita any time. My treat, man."

"Uh, yeah. About that..."

But Clyde was yawning again, his eyes almost completely closed as he started losing his will to stay awake. He ignored Craig's disapproving glare and completely _hugged_ one of the pillows to his face, so close that Craig seriously doubted if he could breath. He wouldn't smother himself, right? Clyde wasn't _that_ dumb...

After a second of deliberation, Craig quickly checked his pulse, just to make sure. He pinched at Clyde's wrist, relieved to feel a very tired, very living heartbeat.

"Stop tryin' ta hold my hand..." Clyde mumbled from the depths of the pillow.

Craig flipped him off, remembered that Clyde could in no way actually SEE him flipping him off, and settled for holding Clyde's hand anyway, just to spite him. It was pretty gay, he had to admit. He let his head fall back against his own fortress of pillows, too exhausted to worry over the microscopic germs Clyde probably spread all over the bed. _Damn you, Clyde. You're doing my laundry tomorrow, right after you clean up Tweek's car. _Craig thought to himself, drifting off into a deep void of sleep. But his dreams were all about Clyde and chariots and fountains of chocolate milk and weird purses that vomited rainbows and burning sedans and how comfortable his bathroom floor was, and in the end, Craig really didn't mind that at all.

* * *

Okeydooke. Done now. Just had to get that out of my system, lol. Hope you liked it :P

I don't know why, but I looooove the idea of Craig secretly being somewhat of a neat freak/germaphobe. It kind of explains his laundry...um, fetish. Idon'tknow. ahaha =)


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